


Playing Pretend

by agetwellcard



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Lonely Steve Rogers, Love Confessions, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Captain America: The First Avenger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 08:42:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8438953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agetwellcard/pseuds/agetwellcard
Summary: “You know, I didn’t even get to go to your funeral,” Steve tells him, his hand now flat against Bucky’s chest. He can feel his heartbeat thumping away. 

  “I’m dead?” Bucky asks, a calmness to his voice.

  Steve feels his pulse under his palm and nods. “You’re dead. I’ve been to your gravestone.”
 Steve moves into his new apartment in Brooklyn after coming out of the ice, and keeps having dreams that Bucky is there with him. He thinks maybe it's a dream or a hallucination, and he doesn't know that Bucky is really alive.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Not quite spooky enough for Halloween, but he does think that Bucky is a ghost so close enough?

The first time it happens, Steve’s been living in Brooklyn for two weeks.

It took all of a week for Tony to get someone to help Steve find an apartment back in Brooklyn. The place was already full of furniture when he moved in with his sparse belongings. The refrigerator had been full of full of food, and his closet full of clothes. Even if it is in Brooklyn, Steve still has a problem seeing it as home.

He only gets a few random hours of sleep the first couple of weeks when he moves in. Maybe it’s the bed, or maybe it’s how loud the streets are below, but Steve finds himself lying in bed and staring at the ceiling for hours on end. Eventually, he’ll get up and either go for a run or busy himself in the living room.

Super serum or not, the lack of sleep catches up to him eventually, and after long hours of blinking up at the ceiling, he finally dozes. It’s short-lived, though, because he easily blinks back awake at the soft clicking of his bedroom door opening.

He’s half-asleep, and tells himself he’s just hearing things, but when he blearily looks around he recognizes the figure standing in his doorway.

It’s Bucky.

He’s had dreams about Bucky before. Not many, but he has seen him. They’ve never been like this, though. Instead of Bucky lounging on the couch and cracking bad jokes in their old apartment before the war, Bucky is standing in front of him in Steve’s new bedroom. It doesn’t make sense, but nothing much about the future makes sense to Steve, either.

Steve stays where he is and takes in his appearance. Bucky’s dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a sweatshirt (like all the civilians wear now), and his brown hair is dripping into his eyes, soft-looking strands glinting in the light of the opened door.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says quietly.

Bucky doesn’t say anything, and Steve mostly isn’t expecting him too.

A few long seconds pass, and Steve goes, “I miss you.”

To Steve’s surprise, Bucky smiles gently at him.

“I miss that smile.” He really does. He rarely even got to see it in the war, not with how quiet and blank-faced he had gotten. Now, though, Bucky is right in front of him again, smile unwavering as he watches Steve carefully.

Steve flicks his eyes closed, just for a few seconds, still expecting to see Bucky on the other side, but all that happens is he slips back into darkness until he wakes the next morning. The sunshine from the window is spreading over his closed door.

He feels like an idiot after he checks the whole apartment for signs of a break in, especially when he comes up empty-handed.

***

It’s only a few days later when he dreams of Bucky again.

It takes a few hours for his body to finally let him sleep, but before he knows it, he’s blinking awake to his bedroom door opening again. Bucky is back, this time wearing a light blue sweater that makes Steve smile dopily at him.

“Your sweater matches your eyes,” he tells him.

Bucky quirks an eyebrow at him.

“It looks nice,” Steve assures him. “You should wear it more often.”

Bucky is smiling at him again, that same smile as before that makes Steve’s chest feel warm.

“You should see the way people dress now, Buck,” Steve tells him conversationally. “It’s so weird. You might’ve liked it, actually. I know you used to hate those suits.”

The smile drops from Bucky’s face, and Steve feels like he said something he wasn’t supposed to. It’s a dream, though, and Steve doesn’t have to worry about hurting some Bucky’s feelings that his brain conjured up for him.

Steve bends his knees and goes, “Come here.”

He doesn’t think Bucky will, but after a few seconds he walks over to Steve’s bed and cautiously perches at the end.

“You would like the way girls dress now, too,” Steve says, smiling to himself. “Barely nothing at all. You’d have a field day. Not that I’d let you.”

Bucky is smiling again, his hands twisted together calmly in his lap.

“The future is weird, Buck,” he says now. “It’s not all bad, though. People are nicer, I think. Plus, they made portable telephones.” Steve almost leans over and clicks the home button of his phone that’s charging on his bedside table, but stays where he is, scared he’ll wake himself up. “Sometimes I wish you were here to see it with me. It gets lonely sometimes.”

Even in his dreams, Steve can’t admit how lonely he really is.

Steve nearly startles when Bucky quietly says, “I am here.”

His voice is just how Steve remembers it, and hearing it makes Steve a little breathless. He desperately wants to record those words and listen to them over and over.

“’Course you are,” Steve hums, his eyes heavy again. “You’re always here.”

Steve swears he can feel Bucky’s body heat against his legs before he disappears.

***

Almost selfishly, Steve makes sure to sleep every night. He wants to see Bucky again, even if it’s just in his dreams. Desperately, he wants to hear his voice and see that soft smile.

It’s not until the next week, though, that Bucky returns to his dreams.

When Steve opens his eyes, Bucky is already standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he looks at Steve.

“You need a haircut,” Steve tells him, smiling. It really isn’t that long, not as long as Bucky’s ever had it, but it’s nearly covering his eyes and curling at the ends.

Bucky brings a hand up to touch his hair, his eyebrows furrowing.

Suddenly, Steve wants to card his hands though it. “Come here,” he demands, voice softer than he expects it to be.

Bucky listens, though, and comes to sit at the end of the bed like before. He’s scared he’ll wake up, but Steve can’t help but to slowly sit up and crawl over to the end of the bed. Bucky watches, his shoulders drawing up as he gets closer. He doesn’t stop Steve when he reaches out to touch Bucky’s hair. His hand hesitates right before it’s touching, though, like Steve is expecting for Bucky to disappear again, or for his hand to slip right through him like the ghost he is.

However, Bucky does neither. Instead, he stays completely still and watches as Steve slowly moves his hand an inch forward and touches the soft hair. He gasps a little when he feels how warm Bucky is, his hand carefully carding through his hair. Bucky is watching him strangely, but Steve can do this. He’s dreaming, so he’s allowed to touch Bucky’s hair like this.

Then, his hand trails down, to the warm skin of Bucky’s neck and then to the soft material of the right sleeve of his sweater. Bucky’s left hand is in his pocket, but his right one is bunched up into a fist, and Steve unfolds it easily, his forefinger tracing the lines of his palm experimentally.

“You feel so real,” he whispers, blinking quickly.

Bucky gives him a sympathetic look. “I am real.”

Steve laughs wetly at him. “Yeah.”

He’s so warm and alive, though, and Steve wants to wrap his arms around him, but he doesn’t. Instead, he continues tracing over the skin and gives Bucky a thoughtful look. “You know, the other day I was at a bookstore and I saw a book with your face on it. It was so weird, Buck.” He shakes his head, a big grin on his face. “People think you’re pretty cool now. I promise I won’t tell them about that time you cried when we saw _Snow White_.”

“I remember that,” Bucky says.

“You should. You talked about that movie for weeks after we saw it. Can’t even imagine what you’d say if you saw movies nowadays.” Bucky cocks his head with an inquisitive expression on his face. “It’s crazy, I’ll tell you that. You remember Howard? He had a kid, and he’s been helping me out since I got back. He’s always trying to get me to watch movies. Most of them are horrible, Buck, but it’s incredible how they look.”

Bucky seems amused by this information, and Steve suddenly recoils when he realizes that this is a dream. He’s dreaming, or maybe even hallucinating. Bucky isn’t here with him, and he’ll never be because he’s dead. Bucky’s face, though, seems hurt when Steve withdraws his hand and lies back down, closing his eyes and hoping Bucky will disappear.

When morning comes, the end of Steve’s bed is empty.

***

Steve knows it’s not smart or healthy, but he tries his hardest not to sleep. He’s too scared to see Bucky again. It’s a reminder that he can’t be well. He must not be if he’s seeing his dead best friend, even if it’s a dream or not. He knows he should tell someone, but everyone he knows seems so busy and he doesn’t even feel close enough to tell anyone.

After a few days, he accidentally dozes on the couch one night. He’s not sure what woke him, but when he does open his eyes, Bucky is in front of him. They stare at each other for a few long minutes, and neither of them says anything. Steve wants to, he really does. He has so many things he could talk to Bucky about, but he knows he’s being crazy if he talks to him.

“You’re going to get a crick in your neck if you sleep like that,” Bucky finally says, a defeated note to his voice.

Steve says nothing, too scared to even move.

Bucky breathes out a loud sigh after a few moments and then slowly approaches Steve. He’s expecting him to stop before he touches him, but Bucky easily wraps his arms around Steve, one on his back and the other under the bend of his knees, and goes, “Come on, you big lug.”

The breath is knocked out of him. He hasn’t been held like this since he was little, when Bucky used to find him fallen asleep on the kitchen table in front of a sketchbook or on their ratty couch with a novel half open on his stomach. Steve buries his head into Bucky’s neck and inhales. He smells just like he remembers, and Steve wraps his arms around his shoulders to be closer.

Bucky easily carries him to his bedroom and carefully deposits him on his bed, even folding back the covers only to push them right back over Steve’s body. Before he can move away from the bed, Steve grabs his arm and pulls at it like a little kid to his mother’s shirt. “Stay,” he says. “Please.”

Bucky seems surprised to hear this, but eventually he toes off his shoes and lies down in the space that Steve makes for him, feet cold against Steve’s. Colder, though, is Bucky’s arm, and Steve thinks to say something but is fast asleep before he can get the question out.

When he wakes up, feeling more rested than he has since he get out of the ice, there is no brown-haired man in his bed, and instead only a cold emptiness that makes Steve feel even more hollow than he usually does.

***

He comes back. Of course he comes back.

Steve sleeps with the door open now, like an invitation for the dream version of Bucky. He takes it, too, every once in a while, just as Steve hopes he will.

Whenever he comes, Steve will moves over in bed and let him lie down next to him and warm his feet up against Steve’s. Steve whispers about the new world he lives in, and Bucky quietly listens, occasionally murmuring a few words that make Steve smile so wide his face hurts.

He knows he must be insane, but he can’t give Bucky up. Sometimes, all he can think about are his visits.

When Bucky gets into bed with Steve tonight, he gives Steve a small smile in lieu of hellos.

“You’re wearing the sweater again,” Steve tells him, his hand brushing against the blue material across his chest.

“You said it looked nice,” Bucky explains.

Steve nods. “Thanks for wearing it,” and then, “Stark wants me back on the field.”

Bucky immediately looks worried.

“There’s no war,” Steve assures him hastily. “It’s just a team he’s putting together for protection. I’m not sure how to feel about it, but it’s my duty to join so I will. Just ‘cause the war’s over doesn’t mean I’m useless. I can still help people.”

Bucky still looks worried.

“I’m hoping it’ll make me feel better again. Maybe give me some purpose so I’ll stop lying around all day waiting to talk to you like some sort of obsessed person.”

They lie in silence, and Steve plays with the collar of Bucky’s sweater, his fingers grazing the skin of his neck. He might be crazy, and insane, and obsessed, but he prays he’ll never have to give this up. He’s not sure he’ll be able to sleep if he knows he won’t get to see Bucky anymore.

“You know, I didn’t even get to go to your funeral,” Steve tells him, his hand now flat against Bucky’s chest. He can feel his heartbeat thumping away.

“I’m dead?” Bucky asks, a calmness to his voice.

Steve feels his pulse under his palm and nods. “You’re dead. I’ve been to your gravestone.”

Bucky mouth parts in surprise and he breathes in a shaky breath before asking, “How?”

“You fell,” Steve says, like he’s reciting facts now. Bucky’s dead. He fell. Steve watched. It’s in all the history textbooks. “I couldn’t save you, even after all those times you saved me.”

Desperately, Steve wants to bury his face into Bucky’s neck and breathe him in until he can make himself believe he’s actually real. It’s useless, though, not when he’s recounting his death.

“I even tried to drink to forget you, Buck, I really did. I already knew I couldn’t get drunk, but I still tried so hard to get drunk just so I could not think about it. It didn’t work. It was like all I could see was you falling, over and over.” Steve realizes his cheeks are wet. “I remember, the guys gave me your things, of what you left behind, and Dernier went – he said to me, ‘Il t'aimais plus que tout le monde’ and I knew he was right but it fucking hurt to hear after I couldn’t save you. You didn’t leave much behind, though, but I swear, I had one of your knives on me the day I went into the ice.”

Bucky looks horrified to hear all of this, but despite his pale face, he carefully uses his hand to wipe away tears from Steve’s eyes, a determined set to his face. Steve only wants to cry harder from the gesture.

“I’m glad it was me,” Bucky says then, voice so quiet that Steve almost doesn’t hear him.

Steve curls into him and tries to forget.

***

Bucky keeps coming back, and Steve keeps letting him in. They lie side by side and Steve easily confesses all his secrets in quiet whispers just like he used to do with Bucky. Sometimes, Steve almost feels like he could be back in Brooklyn, and when he turns the lights on Bucky will still be there and Steve will have thin wrists and bad lungs.

The world keeps going outside of Steve’s apartment, but for a few hours a couple days a week, Steve pretends the forties never went on without him. Playing pretend will never be enough for Steve, not really, but he doesn’t know of any other way to live without him, not when he keeps showing up so willingly.

Bucky is warm and alive under him, though, and Steve loves to just place his hand against the thudding of his heartbeat. Tonight is no different. Steve has his palm flat against Bucky’s chest when he says, “The world’s changed so much, Buck.”

Bucky blinks at him. He’s listening. He’s always listening.

“The other day I saw two men on the subway holding hands and even kissing, and no one batted an eyelash,” Steve recalls. “No one was yelled at. No one was beat up. The train just kept going and they were happy.”

Steve’s seen his fair share of bashing in the neighborhood Bucky and Steve grew up in. He remembers them all in vivid details, and he remembers his own fear. He remembers being called a queer because of how small he was, and he remembers the paralyzing fear that maybe they somehow just _knew_.

“I never told you when you were alive. I’m sorry about that.” If Bucky was still alive, and he really was in front of Steve like this, he’d be slurring his words and avoiding eye contact and so incredibly nervous. He’s not now, though. He’s calm and looks right in Bucky’s eyes when he says, “I really loved you, Bucky. More than a friend, too. And I always hated myself a little for that. Thought it made me wrong and disgusting, and then I woke up and everything was different.”

Bucky’s eyes are wide, but there are no traces of disgust.

Steve laughs, stupidly. “If we would’ve been born a few decades later, maybe it would’ve been different. I don’t know if you would’ve felt the same way, but we could’ve lived such different lives. I wouldn’t have been so scared and alone. I could’ve held your hand and kissed you. Jesus, we could’ve gotten _married_.”

Steve is mourning this lost life, the worst of all his fantasies, when Bucky quietly says, “We could now.”

“Yeah?” Steve says, smiling sadly at Bucky. “You gonna wear a suit and recite your vows to me?”

Bucky smiles. It’s enough of a yes.

The pulse under Steve’s palm feels so steady and real when he quietly hums, “I do.”

Bucky gives him a questioning look.

“You’re supposed to say it back. If we’re getting married.”

There’s a pause and then, “I do.”

Steve grins widely at this, and then leans forward to kiss Bucky. He’s spent years thinking about kissing Bucky. He remembers Bucky coming home from the bar with his hair tousled and his cheeks flushed, drunkenly sitting too close to Steve and smirking with those red lips. He even remembers cold nights in Italy, Bucky’s pointed eyes scouting the area, and his lips perpetually down in frown. He’s wanted to kiss him for so long, and it feels stupid to hold out on a guy that Steve’s made up.

Bucky responds instantly, kissing back just as passionately as Steve gives it to him. Steve’s hand curls into the material of his sweater and he can feel his warm feet against his own. When he pulls back, Bucky’s wide eyes make Steve smile. “I always wanted to do that,” Steve tells him. “Figured you wouldn’t mind.”

Bucky’s lips curl up into a smile when hears this.

Steve hates the aching feeling in his chest. Bucky isn’t alive. He isn’t in this bed with Steve. Steve’s making him up. They never got to kiss, and maybe that’s for the better, Steve thinks. He pushes closer so that he can bury his head in Bucky’s chest, forehead against his sternum, and goes, “Thanks for being here, Buck.”

Before Steve falls asleep, he hears Bucky whisper, “Thanks for letting me stay.”

***

After the Battle of New York, Bucky doesn’t show up in his dreams for weeks. Instead, Steve dreams about aliens. He can’t choose what happens in those dreams, not like with Bucky, and things never go right. He’ll splutter awake drenched in sweat and shouting nonsense, always hoping he’ll find Bucky slipping through his open door or even next to him in bed. He never does.

So Steve dreams and dreams, but Bucky doesn’t return for two weeks.

Steve is petrified that he’s never coming back, and that Steve is somehow better and no longer having dreams about his dead best friend. It eats him alive, and he’s torn between trying to sleep or staying awake so he doesn’t even have the possibility to be disappointed.

Bucky comes back, though. He wakes Steve up by slipping under the covers, his cold feet brushing against Steve’s legs.

“You’re back,” Steve says drowsily, instantly grabbing for his hand; the warm one, not the cold one.

Bucky nods, a tired look on his face.

“Thought you were gone forever,” Steve admits. “I’m really happy you’re back. Things have been weird lately. I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Bucky tells him.

Steve wants to smile, but Bucky looks and sounds horrible. His voice is scratchy like he’s been sick and the bags under his eyes are even blacker than usual, like he’s got two black eyes. Steve even can see the pink line of a healing scratch on his cheek.

“Buck, are you okay?” Steve says, gently bringing his hand up to trace the scar with his index finger.

Bucky shies away, giving Steve one quick, affirmative nod.

Steve bites his lip in thought for a few seconds before sitting up. He’s not sure if it will work, but he wants to try. He’s never been outside of his room with Bucky except for the night Bucky found him in the living room. He wants to see just how far his dreams (or insanity) extend.

“Come on,” Steve says, swinging his legs over the bed and heading for the door. He stops at the door, turning around to see if Bucky is following, and he is. Steve smiles to himself and heads for the kitchen. He gestures for Bucky to sit at the breakfast nook and then rummages through the refrigerator.

It’s not until Steve is lighting the stove that he asks, “You eat food, right?”

Bucky nods, a small smile on his face.

“Good. I’m going to make up grilled cheese,” Steve declares, opening the lid to the butter. “I don’t really know how to make much. You know that, obviously. But this is good, right?”

Bucky shrugs and then nods.

Cutting up slices of cheese, Steve goes, “I haven’t been eating much lately. I know I should, but with what happened here and – ” _with how much I missed you_ , Steve wants to say. For some reason he’s scared to admit it to him. “Things have just been weird lately.”

With two sandwiches cooking, Steve turns around to face Bucky. He’s watching Steve intently, eyes hooded tiredly and bottom lip between his teeth. Steve only has one set of lights on, and in the dim lighting Bucky looks even worse. Steve wonders if maybe the Bucky in his dreams reflects his own mental state. They’re both a sight for sore eyes.

“You remember that time I started a fire trying to cook chicken for us?” Steve asks, turning back around to poke at the bread with a spatula. “That was right after Ma died, and you moved into the apartment and started working full time at the docks. I tried so hard to make you a good meal to come home to and then I went and started a fire.”

Steve doesn’t expect a response, and that’s why he’s surprised when Bucky goes, “The cabinet next to the stove was black for years because of that?” It’s not a nostalgic statement, and instead more of a question. Steve looks over his shoulder, confused to find Bucky with an anxious expression on his face. Steve realizes he’s waiting for him to confirm Bucky’s right.

“Yeah, it was,” he says, flipping a grilled cheese. “I never heard the end of it. I still remember when your ma came over and saw it. You couldn’t even stop laughing long enough to tell her what happened. You remember?”

When Steve turns around, Bucky is smiling shyly. “I do,” he tells Steve.

The next morning, Bucky is gone from his bed, but Steve finds two plates in the sink.

***

The next time Bucky visits, Steve has a plan.

He wakes to the dip in the bed and the telltale feel of his cold feet. Steve rolls over to see that Bucky is looking better. The scar has completely healed and his eyes are looking less dead. Steve tries not to think about the irony.

“Hey,” Steve greets. He can tell Bucky is expecting it when Steve casually places a hand over his heartbeat. It’s still there, thumping away as it always is. “I have a question for you.”

Bucky quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Do you think you can leave the apartment?”

Dropping his eyes, Bucky make a non-committal noise. It sounds like enough of a yes for Steve.

“I wanna go to this diner with you,” Steve explains. “It’s only a few blocks over and open twenty-four-seven. The first time I went there, I kept thinking about how it reminded me of the one we used to go to. It’s not the nicest place, but I wanted to go there with you.”

Bucky seems genuinely surprised to hear this. He doesn’t answer for a few very long seconds, during which Steve realizes just how nervous he is asking Bucky to go with him, and then he nods his head. He seems just as nervous as Steve, and something about that calms Steve.

Steve gets up from the bed and pulls on a pair of jeans over his boxers. Bucky is sitting up in bed, his hair ruffled from the pillows, and biting his fingernails. Steve thinks it’s strange because he never remembered Bucky biting his nails, but he ignores it, throwing on his leather jacket and checking for his wallet before throwing Bucky an expectant glance.

Slowly, he stands and they head for the front door. Steve is nearly bouncing with excitement as he holds open the door for Bucky to go through. He almost expects Bucky to disappear the second he walks over the threshold, but he’s still there, standing awkwardly in the hallway, hands deep in his pockets. Steve smiles brightly and locks his apartment door.

Out on the street, it’s cool and the sidewalks are nearly empty since it’s two in the morning. They walk side by side, and Steve’s hand keeps bumping into Bucky’s until eventually he asks, “Buck, can I hold your hand?”

Bucky slowly smiles and then nods. Steve laces his fingers through Bucky’s and smiles widely into the sidewalk. Bucky might not be real, and Steve might be going crazy, but at least for a few seconds he can pretend that him and Bucky are holding hands in public like they never could’ve before. Steve hopes it’s all right, but he’s sure it is when Bucky squeezes his hand and smiles at him again, teeth and all in a goofy grin.

They stop holding hands when they get to the diner, Steve holding up the door for Bucky to go through. The waitress working barely even glances at him when he asks for a table for two. She even places two menus down on the table. Steve orders for Bucky, though, already knowing what he’ll want.

“Hopefully no one will recognize me,” Steve tells Bucky. “That happens a lot now. It’s weird. It’s not like when people used to recognize me during the war. Now, they’ll follow me around and take photos of me on their phones and I don’t even realize it. People care about what I’m doing, too. Might even see a news story in a couple days about this trip.”

Bucky looks sympathetic but says nothing.

“‘Captain America goes insane in Brooklyn diner, tonight at five,’” Steve jokes, adding a sad laugh. He wouldn’t be surprised if he really did see that headline.

“You’re not insane,” Bucky tells him, lightly knocking his shoe into Steve’s from under the table.

Steve stares into the table. “I am.”

“Why?”

“Buck.” Steve runs a hand through is hair and bites his lip. He feels restless suddenly, desperately not wanting to have this conversation. “Come on. I’m making you up. I talk to you and touch you and I’m even fucking feeding you. You’re not real, and I have to be insane to keep doing this.”

Bucky looks hurt when Steve chances a glance over to him. “Steve, I’m real,” he tells him slowly.

Steve rubs his face, letting out a choked noise. “Stop. You’re not real.”

“I am.”

“No,” Steve tells him firmly. “Stop. Please, stop, Bucky. You’re not real. You died seventy years ago.”

Bucky tries to place his hand over Steve’s and Steve yanks away from the touch, cradling the hand to his chest like he’s been burnt. “I lived,” Bucky tells him. “Just like you.”

Steve feels like he can’t breathe. He just wants Bucky to stop talking. He should be able to do that, too, seeing as though he’s the one making him up. He can’t will him to do anything, though. He’s about to open his mouth to beg Bucky to stop, but then the waitress comes back with their drink orders. She places Bucky’s cup right in front of him, like he’s there.

Steve freezes.

“Do you see him?” Steve asks her, a horrible feeling swelling in his chest.

The waitress gives him an annoyed look. “What kind of games are you playing?”

“I need to know if there’s a man sitting across from me.”

“Next time you decide to do a bunch of drugs,” she says, crossing her arms over chest. “Try not to come back here and make me serve your stupid ass.”

Steve stares at her, shocked.

She walks away and Bucky quips, “That’s Brooklyn for you.”

Abruptly, Steve slides out of the booth and digs in his pockets for whatever spare bills he has. He throws them onto the table and rushes for the exit. His chest is tight, like when he used to have asthma attacks, and he almost instinctively checks his pocket for his inhaler.

“Steve!” Bucky yells, rushing after Steve.

He keeps walking, though, back turned to him, trying to ignore his voice. Bucky grabs him by the shoulder, though, angrily spinning him around.

“Steve, look at me!” he shouts. “I’m real. I promise you.”

“You’re dead!” Steve shouts back. He’s crying now, nearly shaking with anger.

“I didn’t die, Steve.”

Steve shakes off his hand on his shoulder and pushes him back. Bucky barely budges. “Get away from me. I don’t want to see you anymore. This isn’t healthy. I’m fucking – “ Steve chokes on his words, angrily wiping at his eyes with the back of his arm. “I’m crazy.”

Bucky doesn’t disappear like Steve hopes when he says this. Instead, he stays right where he is, face hurt and eyes glassy. Steve feels like shit for yelling at him, but he can’t feel bad because it’s not Bucky.

“Fine,” Bucky says after a few long moments. “I’ll leave you alone. If that’s what you want.”

Steve nods his head, already wanting to make him stay. He wants to kiss him and touch him until he can almost believe that Bucky is real. He won’t, though. He doesn’t get to do anything as he watches Bucky turn around and walk into the distance.

***

It feels like defeat when Steve visits Bucky’s grave.

He’s only visited it once before. He had brought flowers with him and slid his fingers across each engraved letter of Bucky’s name. This time, Steve comes empty-handed and sits against the headstone. The flowers from before are gone, and now it’s just an empty plot and a small headstone.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says quietly. He’s been talking to Bucky for weeks now, and yet he’s still somehow nervous now. “I’m sorry I haven’t visited again.”

Bucky’s grave doesn’t blink as Steve talks, or cock his head in question, or raise an eyebrow in amusement. Bucky’s grave is silent. He’s not even buried down there, though, and maybe that’s why it feels so empty.

“I keep seeing you. At first, I thought I was dreaming. They weren’t dreams, though. They couldn’t have been. I’m not well, I guess. You haven’t been back in a week now, so maybe I’m getting better.”

Steve’s fingers itch to find that heartbeat he had loved feeling so much.

“I miss you.”

***

Steve tries to live a better life, he really does.

He starts eating on a schedule, and going on runs every morning, and hanging out with the team. He even does start to feel better, but the one thing he can’t seem to fix is his sleeping habits. Every night he thinks of how it felt to have Bucky right next to him, warm and alive, and can’t sleep. He thought that he could take Bucky’s disappearance better, but he only wants him back.

Things seem to be getting better until Steve finds the key.

He wakes up one morning and drowsily stumbles to the kitchen to make coffee. It’s only once he’s halfway through his cup that he sees the silver glint on the breakfast nook. Slowly, he puts down his coffee mug and approaches the key, eyebrows cinched in confusion.

He has two sets of keys for the apartment; one he keeps on his key loop and the other tucked away safely in his dresser. He doesn’t remember moving either of them, though. He picks up the keys and stares at it in the morning light. It’s considerably shinier than both of his keys, like it’s newer.

Steve places it back down and rushes to his bedroom to check his key loop and his dresser. Both keys are accounted for. Next, he retrieves the key from the kitchen counter and checks to see if it’s even for his own door. Sure enough, it’s locks and unlocks his door perfectly.

He never made a third copy of his key. He tries to rationalize that maybe the landlord brought it in while Steve way out last night and he’s only just noticed it now. That doesn’t make sense, but neither does the hopeful feeling in his chest that it could be Bucky. It was placed exactly where Bucky had sat the night that Steve made them grilled cheeses.

He feels like he’s going crazy (or crazier than he was before) so he finally breaks down and calls Natasha, arguably the person he’s closest to.

She answers on the second ring. Steve never calls her, so she sounds slightly alarmed when she asks, “What’s up?”

“Natasha, I’m seeing things,” he says, panicked. “I’m going crazy or something. I don’t ever remember making a key, but I must’ve if it’s sitting here in my apartment. And I’m not okay. I think I’m crazy because Bucky was here and now he’s not and – “

“ _Steve_ ,” Natasha says firmly, making Steve halt his ramblings. “Did something happen to Bucky?”

He can’t breathe for a few seconds. “What do you mean?”

“Is Bucky okay? Do you need me to come over?”

“Is Bucky – Natasha, he’s _dead_ ,” Steve stammers.

“ _What_?”

“Bucky died seventy years ago.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and Steve wonders if he’s making up this conversation, too. Maybe Natasha isn’t real, either, Steve thinks.

“I’m coming over,” she finally says. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Stay put.”

The line dies.

Steve doesn’t know what to think or do, so he sits at the breakfast nook and stares at the key until his apartment buzzer goes off. He lets her upstairs and when he swings open the door, Natasha checks him over for injuries.

“Is Bucky here now?” Natasha asks, skirting around Steve check the apartment for herself.

Steve stares at her, horrified. “What’s going on?”

“You _have_ been seeing Bucky for the past few weeks, right?”

He’s not sure how he’s supposed to answer the question. He takes a big breath and decides to be truthful. “In my dreams, or maybe hallucinations, I’m not sure. But, Natasha, he’s dead.”

Natasha crosses her arms over her chest, looking annoyed. “He didn’t tell you? About everything?” Steve stares at her blankly, a sick feeling rising in his chest. It’s only then that he realizes she has something in her grip, a file folder, that she holds out Steve. “I brought this for you. I think you should read it.”

***

Bucky’s not dead.

Steve tries to tell himself this over and over again, but it’s only now that he can’t seem to understand it. He read the file folder Natasha brought over at least three times now. It was crudely translated from Russian and there was even photographs included. He reads the file folder so many times that he almost wishes that it wasn’t real, and that Bucky really was dead.

Natasha feigns thirst when Steve starts crying, hurrying to the kitchen to give Steve privacy. It’s as much for herself as it is for Steve, but he still appreciates the gesture. Eventually, though, she leaves, placing a solid hand on his shoulder and going, “He’s better now.”

Bucky and Natasha have been in communication for weeks, ever since Natasha was assigned to keep tabs on Steve at his new apartment, and saw him lurking around outside of the building. She had known for weeks about Bucky and didn’t tell Steve because she thought he knew already. It was only a few days ago that Natasha had even been able to get her hands on the file folder.

Now, Steve isn’t even sure that Bucky will come back after everything he’s done to him.

Steve gets ready for bed slowly, stalling for as long as he can before he lies down in bed. He stays to the right side, leaving the left free and the door ajar, like he thinks Bucky will actually come back. He lies in bed for hours, snapping at every tiny noise, but Bucky never shows.

“Please come back, Buck,” Steve whispers to his empty room.

***

Whether Natasha got in touch with Bucky again or if Steve’s apartment is bugged, Bucky does come back.

Instead of slipping through Steve’s door and crawling into bed with him, he buzzes up to Steve’s apartment. At first, Steve thinks it will be Natasha. He lets them upstairs and waits at the door for the red head. Instead, it’s Bucky, slightly hunched with his hands in his pockets. He makes strained eye contact with Steve as he walks up to the door.

He stands in front of Steve for a long moment before he finally goes, “I gave you the key I made.”

“I saw,” Steve mutters casually, like the thing didn’t throw him into a panic.

Bucky is still hunched over, looking smaller than Steve’s ever seen him. He realizes then that they’re still standing at the doorway so he moves back so Bucky can come through. In the day of light, Bucky looks rougher than Steve remembers from his dazed nightly visits. They awkwardly stand in the living room and take each other in.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky then says, eyes now past Steve, looking at the file folder on his coffee table. “Everything was still blurry at first. I was confused and I – ” Bucky looks down his shoes. “You felt like home, Steve, even if I barely knew who you were.”

Steve doesn’t know how to respond. He feels pathetic watching Bucky speak.

“I shouldn’t have just showed up the way I did, I know that now. At the time, it was kind of the only thing I knew. And I’m sorry – ”

“Why are you apologizing?” Steve stops him, voice choked. “You shouldn’t have to apologize at all, Bucky. Not after everything that happened to you.”

Bucky starts when he hears Steve say this, and Steve hates that he made him do that.

“Buck, I’m the one who’s sorry. I thought you were a ghost or I was going crazy, and I feel like I might’ve crossed a line I shouldn’t and I don’t even know how you feel and – ” Steve stops himself, shrugging to Bucky. “I’m sorry.”

Slowly, Bucky approaches Steve. He doesn’t say anything, and neither does Steve, but Steve’s anticipating it when Bucky leans in for a kiss. Steve sighs into his mouth and kisses back, all of his doubts and worries melting away.

Bucky is real. He’s here with Steve now. He’s not a ghost, or a dream, or a hallucination.

When they separate, Bucky is smiling softly and Steve can’t but to smile back at him. With one warm and one cold hand, Bucky grabs for Steve’s own hand and brings it up to Bucky’s chest. Steve’s palm is flat against that heartbeat. It’s still going strong, and instead of dismissing it as some fantasy, Steve realizes it’s still beating because Bucky is really alive.

Quietly, Bucky goes, “I do.”

Steve frowns at him, confused.

“You’re supposed to say it back,” Bucky explains, smirking at him.

Before he can help himself, Steve pulls him in for a hug, arms tight around him. Into his chest, he goes, “I do.”

***

The next morning, Bucky is still in bed with him.

 


End file.
